Heather Long - Waiting in the Wings

She wouldn’t forget a moment she spent with her girls—never them. But her playful sojourn was over, and it was time to get back to real life. Real.

Fear punched her in the stomach. What if she couldn’t leave? She assumed a lot, but she was still cursed, still bound. And she still didn’t know who held the lease. Sucking in a breath, she forced her legs to keep moving. They were on stage in less than two minutes. Picking up her skirt, she dashed up the stairs and slid to a stop at the edge of the darkened stage.

The spotlight came up and struck her, dazzling her eyes and sending out a kaleidoscope of rainbows. The music cued and she lifted an arm, striding forward the eight-count from the wings to center stage. Mock glaring at the audience, she planned to give them the show of their life. The next bars brought the other dancers prowling onto stage.

The music repeated, but instead of letting her frenetic energy go, her soul froze. She missed her mark.

The other dancers hesitated. The audience stirred. The refrain echoed through the theatre.

Still, she didn’t move.

“Kiki.” Britta hissed from her left.

But she couldn’t move.

Memories poured in, storming through her like a flash flood.

Kristina arrived at McCarran Airport and strode through row upon tacky row of slot machines and hard, ugly plastic chairs. She took a commercial flight, paying for her whim with a cabin full of sweaty bodies, too much perfume and screaming children. Of all of them, the screaming children bothered her least. They at least didn’t choose to be on that flight. She couldn’t say the same for her—or the others.

A limousine waited in the slip in front of the airport doors. Black-suited guards stood just inside the airport doors and another at the door to the vehicle. The sun peeked across the desert, and she scooted quickly across the sidewalk and into the open door.

“Hello, beautiful.” Andrew leaned forward to catch her hand and press a cool kiss to her knuckles.

She let him give her the perfunctory greeting, but when he added a caress of his thumb to her pulse point, she pulled away. “Thank you for overlooking the haste of my request, Your Highness. You honor me with the personal greeting.” His personal touch surprised her, but in retrospect—it shouldn’t. She knew Andrew and Richard had had their differences through the years. Her suspicious last-minute request and arrival sans her mate without observing any of the proper protocols undoubtedly rang more than a few bells.

“My lady, you are always welcome in my city, you must know that. I have arranged for a private suite at my villa—”

Oh hell no. Kristina shook her head gently. “Andrew, you honor me with the kindness in your gesture, but I just want to go spend some time at the Arcana Royale. I’ve heard such fascinating stories about the casino and the clientele—and the shows !” She played off her distrust of his offer with her very real interest in the world famous casino.

Richard had refused her entreaties nearly two decades before to visit and every year since. He didn’t trust anything about the operation and the location— the location more than the casino, I imagine. His problems with Andrew go all the way back to London.

The younger Lord Wolcott had never gotten over his uncle’s selection of Richard as the new Prince of London—he always believed it should have passed to him. Leaning back in the seat, she crossed one leg over the other and feigned curiosity at the passing landscape. The desert held a certain dangerous allure. But the lack of real cover and the all too threatening sunshine danced far too close to the edge for her tastes.

“Very well. I’ve some contacts there, let’s get you set up in style.” He tapped the glass separating them from the driver. “Arcana Royale, Jean”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Andrew studied her from across the car. The extra-wide compartment of his expensive limousine promised every luxury, but she was of half a mind to ask him to turn back to the airport. No sooner did the thought take purchase than she dismissed it immediately. Richard would expect her back, and it wouldn’t matter how he angered or disappointed her, he would expect her return.

And why shouldn’t he? I always come back. I always forgive him. Well, dammit, this time he can earn his forgiveness. He can come and find me. Renewed anger blossomed in her chest, and she gave Andrew her attention once more. “So, how have you been?”

“Well enough. The local influx from back East has my city booming.” Now that he brought it up, she studied the hustle of construction. “This strip will be the most lucrative in the country. A fortune will flow into the city, and I will receive one percent from every transaction.”

“One percent?” Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “That doesn’t seem like a large amount.”

“Not individually, no. But when you are discussing millions—yes, one percent will add up quite nicely.” He opened a bottle of Pinot Noir and poured two glasses. Hints of copper and a touch of gold filled the air. “Imagine, if you will, that one percent of every transaction from land sales to construction to gambling and taxes—one percent of every single dollar spent in this city will flow into my coffers.”

Basic math wasn’t sexy, no matter how his voice caressed the words. He handed her a glass and she swirled the wine. “For how long?”

“Forever.” Andrew smiled and touched his glass to hers with a clink. “So many laughed when I took this city—a former military base and a collection of houses in the middle of nowhere. But where others saw only emptiness, I saw potential.” He watched her expectantly, so she smiled and touched the glass to her lips.

The wine tickled her throat, the blood almost too fresh as though decanted that day. “Well, then allow me to offer my congratulations for your brilliant planning.” And could we possibly change the subject from money and your plans? The limousine swung into a dark garage and slid to a stop. Outside, a uniformed valet reached for the backdoor and opened it with a bow. The man’s uniform shone, brushed and cleaned to a fare-thee-well.

Grasping the excuse, she set her wine glass down and slid over to accept the valet’s hand. The desert heat wrapped its suffocating grip around her. For a moment, she was transported to Egypt and the long moonlit camel rides she’d taken with Richard—a lifetime ago. Her mouth tightened. She’d wanted to see the pyramids, and he’d indulged her. One of the last such indulgences before politics consumed so many years of their lives.

Politics and ruling—she married a noble, had been turned by a noble, a man who took on the burdens of others. She thought it heroically romantic when they first met. But after four hundred years of coming in second to his ambition and the duties associated with those ambitions—

“Welcome to the Arcana Royale, madam.” The valet bowed to her and she spared him a half-smile. Andrew exited close behind her and his hand came to rest against her waist. She couldn’t shake him off without giving possible offense, so she endured the intimate contact and entered the Arcana Royale proper.

The lobby took her breath away. The warm sandstone marble surrounded sweeping pale columns, fountains and lush foliage. A true oasis of splendor, but the crown jewel stood overlooking the whole of the lobby—a sphinx.

“The rumors are true…” She breathed out the words and hurried forward, head tilted back so she could gaze upon the enormity of it all.

“Yes, they did import a sphinx. It took enormous magic and coaxing.” Andrew shadowed her steps, his presence a buzzing irritation against the private satisfaction of the moment. “I helped.”